This Can't Be Happening
by Djinn1
Summary: Sometimes your characters challenge you to do new things. There are certain people I've never put Chapel with. Certain people I swore never to. Chapel took exception. Dared me. She knows me too well. This ended up being as fun to write as my Flash/Wonder Woman story (which had a somewhat similar genesis). Some readers might enjoy it. Others will hate it. Whatever: it's all good.


This Can't Be Happening

by Djinn

Chapel rolled over in bed and nearly pushed the person next to her onto the floor.

Wait—there was a person next to her? Oh, shit. Not again.

She heard him stirring, and she closed her eyes and promised the gods and goddesses of chastity that she'd be good from here on out if they'd just beam him out of her bed.

He didn't move.

Well, he did move. He just didn't disappear. He turned and cuddled into her, then slid his hand down her body until—oh, holy shit: there.

"Good morning, Christine."

"Pavel."

He was doing sinfully good things to her with his fingers, which was a large part of why she kept finding herself in this predicament.

"Oh, God, don't stop," she said, clutching at the bed sheet below her.

"Why would I stop, Christine? When you ask so nicely?" He kissed his way down to where his fingers were, let his lips and tongue take over, and she was lost.

Loudly lost. Nearly breaking his neck with her spasms lost.

Jesus, the kid could eat out with the best of them.

And he came up smiling. Every single time.

Easing into her, he said, "When are you going to admit we are good together?"

She wrapped her legs around him to pull him deeper in. "Never."

"You are in love with Mister Spock. That is what you tell yourself. But where is Spock? Not here, Christine. And I am. And I am willing to wager that he would not be as good in bed as I am."

The idea that this was almost certainly true greatly disturbed her.

"I have youth on my side. Boundless energy, endless enthusiasm, and I can make you come with very little effort. Any other woman would consider me a keeper."

"Shut up and fuck me, Pavel."

"Eventually, that will not be an acceptable thing to say to me." He looked at her with a sorrow she didn't like, then his face changed to one of lust, and he did finally shut up and fuck her.

Very, very, very well.

##

Chapel saw Spock hovering, looked at him to see if he wanted to talk to her.

He did not glance her way. He appeared to be waiting for McCoy, or M'Benga, or hell, maybe goddamned Godot.

When in the hell would she give up on him? It was all his fault she was currently waking up a lot of mornings with Chekov. If Spock hadn't been so...curt the last time she'd tried to invite him to dinner, she would never have let Pavel buy her that drink.

Or the next one.

Or the one after that.

They'd ended up in his quarters. Kissing. She'd kissed him first—she can't blame this on him. But then somehow he had her shirt up, her pants down, and was getting to know her body way better than she'd ever planned for him to.

And then he'd gone down on her and all thought of leaving fled.

But that was exactly the point—she could not let a few good orgasms dictate who she saw socially.

Okay, not a few.

And, okay, not just good—goddamn great.

But still, orgasms should not be the deciding factor.

She walked over to Spock. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

"No, nurse, but thank you." He didn't even look up when he said it.

"Sure. No problem."

She decided to go to lunch, was on her way when she saw Pavel in the corridor by the lift.

"I thought you might be hungry. We worked up quite an appetite last night."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything as he followed her into the lift.

"Hold lift," he said, and crossed his arms over his chest, studying her. "You just saw Spock, didn't you? You get a certain look."

"So what if I did?"

"He makes you unhappy. Can't you see that? You want him, and he does not want you, and yet you keep trying. And ultimately, you feel bad about yourself because you know you deserve better."

"I didn't realize you were a shrink, Pav. Thanks for that assessment. Now start the damn lift."

"No." He leaned against the wall and shook his head softly.

"What are we doing?"

"An excellent question, Christine. I do not think your heart is in this relationship."

"I told you that. This is not news." Her brain wasn't in it, either. But the rest of her body was fully on board.

"I think we should go back to the way we were. Just friends."

"Oh. Okay." Had they been friends, though? She frowned as she tried to remember.

"Have I upset you?"

"No. Friends. Fine."

He stood farther away from her than he'd been standing lately, told the lift to resume, and kept his gaze on the door.

"You still want to do it though, right?" she asked. "I mean even if we're giving it up? You still want me."

"I can't think that way, _Milaya_. I believe we have run our course. A man should see progress when he pursues a woman, and I should know when not to beat my head against a wall." He glanced at her. "A Vulcan wall."

"I'm not with Spock."

"Oh, is that your way of saying you do not want me ending this relationship?"

"No. It's fine if we're just friends." She could give herself orgasms like he did—couldn't she?

"Good, then we are agreed." He led her to the mess, and they sat with Uhura and Sulu.

Chapel kept sneaking glances at Pavel. He seemed perfectly fine. Not like he'd just called a halt to something he really wanted.

She frowned—deeply. This should not bother her.

So why did it bug the hell out of her?

##

Chapel followed Captain Kirk, Spock, and Len down the trail on the overgrown planet that a Federation colony was supposed to have been working on. This area should be cleared, crops planted. But the colony was in the midst of an epidemic and they were way behind schedule.

She looked back. Pavel and two security officers trailed her, their weapons out. Pav was scanning as he walked.

"Captain," he said. "There is no trace of any disease here."

"I'm getting the same thing, Jim." Len looked back at her. "You?"

"All clear."

"Damn it all," Kirk said. "Where is everyone? That distress call was very clear."

"Or a trap," Pavel muttered, but loudly enough to be heard.

"My thoughts exactly," Kirk said, turning back to the security officers. "Look sharp."

They reached the edge of a clearing, a large building stood half finished in the middle.

"Holy..." Chapel looked away.

The colonists were hanging from the walls, the roof, the unfinished frame. Torn up. Bloody.

"Ah, Starfleet sent me more weapons. How delightful." The voice came from well past them, in the trees.

Kirk was already pushing Spock and Len back. "Everyone down. And back up. Watch our flank—I don't trust that he's alone."

A security officer suddenly fired, and Chekov pushed Chapel out of the way, "Stay down," he said as he joined the security officers.

Spock pushed Len back to join her. "You are unarmed, Doctor. Please stay out of harm's way." He didn't spare her a glance.

She huddled with Len in the bushes while whoever had killed the colonists was subdued with a little help from reinforcements from the ship.

"Do you think it's safe to go out there," Len asked. "Don't really like sitting here on my ass when I could be helping."

She shrugged.

Then Pavel was there, a smile on his face and a deep laceration on his shoulder. "Doctor, some of us could use your attention." He pointed to where several crewmen lay. "They are worse off than I am."

"Christine can fix you up, Chekov." Len gave her a devilish look, then hurried off to the other wounded men.

"Old biddy. Matchmaking." She half laughed, half sighed, and ran her scanner over Pavel's arm. "How badly does it hurt?"

"I'll live."

"That's not what I asked."

"A lot."

"I can heal it in sickbay. Do you want something for the pain?"

"No. Sometimes it's good to feel. Reminds you not to do stupid things that hurt."

She looked down.

"I'm sorry, Christine. You don't deserve that." He looked over to where Kirk and Spock were talking. "I see the way you look at him."

"You were the one who made sure I was safe—he couldn't have cared less. That fact wasn't lost on me."

"It won't matter though. The heart wants what the heart wants." He gave her a game smile and joined the others.

She looked over at Spock. He met her eyes, his own registering nothing as he looked away—not quickly, just...normally. As if looking at her was not something that made him react at all.

She took a deep breath and went to see if there was anything she could do to help Len.

##

Chapel sat in the mess with Sulu, watching as Chekov loaded up his lunch tray.

"You know, Christine, for someone who's not interested in him, you certainly are watching him with a great degree of intent."

"Shut up, Hikaru."

"Can't help observing the obvious."

"Mmm hmmm." She tried to catch Pavel's eye, but he didn't look her way, just took his food out of the mess. "Where's he going?"

"Does it matter?"

She took a deep breath. "How much has he told you?"

"Enough." Sulu was saved from further comment by taking a huge bite of his sandwich and chewing very slowly.

Coward.

She sat back in her chair. "I see him in the lounge. He's always dancing with someone."

"He likes to dance," Sulu said as soon as he was done chewing. "He'd be happy to know you care."

"I don't care. Don't tell him I care. It's just—I didn't expect him to be quite so successful with the ladies."

"You know, if you spent more time with ensigns and less time with command staff, you might know he has a nickname: 'Get you there' Chekov."

She started to laugh. "I'm not commenting."

"Of course not, but I hear things. He's reportedly _very_ good at certain activities."

She shrugged; she had a feeling her eyes were sparkling, giving away that Chekov was indeed very good at certain things. "So he gets girl after girl. Guess he's a real playboy."

"He's not a wallflower, that's for sure. But I've never seen him stop seeing someone the way he did you."

"He told you about that?"

Sulu nodded. "This other stuff, these other women—they're infatuations. Crushes and then he moves on. You...he talked about you in a very different way."

She looked down. "Are you saying he's in love with me?"

"I wouldn't do that to him: give you that kind of power. Not when it's clear you only have eyes for our first officer."

She sighed. "The heart wants what the heart wants." She realized that was what Chekov had said to her.

"Uh huh. And sometimes the heart is an idiot."

"Says the man who lusted after Jan the whole time she was on the ship."

He held a hand up. "I didn't say I was immune." He leaned in, his expression very serious. "If you're not going to give him a real chance, cut the guy a break. Don't watch him like you care. Don't give him any hope. All right?"

She nodded. She didn't want to hurt Chekov. He could be with whomever the hell he wanted.

##

She saw Spock sitting alone in the mess and took a deep breath. She wasn't looking for Roger anymore. She was done messing around with Chekov. This was the guy she wanted, so she should just do something about that, right?

She walked over to his table—thank God, the mess was packed—and said softly, "Would you mind if I shared your table?"

He looked up at her, his face a stone mask. "I am working on something." He pointed to the padd he was reading from. "I will not be able to hold polite conversation if that is what you are hoping for."

She knew he was just trying to set expectations. There was nothing mean in his tone or in his eyes. He was busy. If she wanted to sit at the table he was at, she could. She just should not expect him to talk to her.

She could feel her face flaming. Said softly, "Oh, I see a table opening up," and fled.

He did not try to stop her.

She saw Pavel sitting in the corner. He gave her the kind of sympathetic smile that said he'd clearly watched her crash and burn, then he waved her over.

She considered taking her food back to sickbay, but there was nowhere to eat unless she went into Len's office, and she usually only did that after a bad day, when he wanted company, too.

This had not started out a bad day.

"Guess you saw that?" she said as she sat in the chair next to Pavel's.

"Saw what? I saw nothing." His smile was sweetly goofy, his eyes very kind as he gave her the out she probably didn't deserve—not from him.

"For the record, he didn't tell me no. He just...was busy, so I thought it best to leave him alone."

"Of course. You do not have to explain, Christine." He went back to eating.

She was very grateful for how gracious he was being. "I haven't seen you for a while. In the lounge, I mean."

"I have been spending time with Liliana Dellman. Do you know her?"

Chapel shook her head. Hikaru was right. She didn't know many of her peers. "How's it going?"

"She's a nice girl."

"The opposite of me, then." She laughed. It came out a little self pitying.

He nodded and she rolled her eyes. "I am agreeing with you, Christine, not because you are not nice—although at times, you are not—but because you are not a girl. You are a woman."

"And you like older women, don't you?"

"I do. Well, to be honest, I like most women." He laughed in a self-deprecating way. "Which is not to say I'll settle for anything, but I am generally charmed by your gender."

"I get it."

He seemed to be studying her. "You like older men, don't you?"

She nodded.

"And taller men, I imagine. Most women want that."

She hated that it was true of most women—and of her. What difference did it make who was taller? Character wasn't measured in centimeters.

He finished eating his sandwich, smiled at her gently, and said, "I'm not running out on you, but I have to get back to the bridge."

She nodded. "Of course. Thank you for being so nice, Pav."

"It is not difficult to be nice to you, Christine."

##

Chapel carried the second bowl of plomeek soup she'd made today to Spock's quarters. She was still trying to figure out what it meant that he was married.

Had that been why he'd stayed away from her? And why he'd seemed so intent on her when she'd come to tell him they were headed to Vulcan?

She rang the chime at his door and heard his "Come." He was sitting at his desk, the terminal crumpled beyond all recognition. The covers on his bed were in disarray. The temperature felt about ten degrees hotter than the last time she'd been in here, which wasn't that long ago. Plomeek soup was pretty damn quick to make when it wasn't you making it, but a synthesizer.

She put the soup on the desk, just to his side, and he looked at it but did not reach for it.

"If I could help you, Spock, I would."

"We are bound for Vulcan." His words came out labored. As if every one required thought and intent.

"Yes. Yes, we are. To your wife."

"My wife. T'Pring." His eyebrows knit down, and she realized he might not like his wife all that much.

"Do you love her?" she asked so softly he could ignore her if he chose.

"I do not know. Perhaps, after the consummation of our marriage..." He seemed to be very far away, his look almost one of confusion "T'Pring once thought highly of me, as I did of her." He looked up at her. "You loved your fiancé, did you not?"

"I did."

"And yet you told me you loved me. While you were searching for him."

She could feel her face flaming at the not so subtle criticism. "I told you that under the influence of the virus. I never would have otherwise."

"You dishonored him."

"I would have been faithful to him. I cannot help what was in my heart."

"I used to think that way about Leila. That I could not help how she moved me. That I sought no dishonor to T'Pring."

Her heart sank. Leila. That woman from the planet with the spores. Chapel had seen them together. So stupidly happy. She'd wished she could make Spock laugh and run and hang from trees.

She couldn't even make him admit he had feelings for her. Probably because he didn't. He had a wife. A wife who he was going to as soon as they arrived at Vulcan. Would he be different when he came back? Would he be...happier?

"I'm going to leave you alone now, Spock. I wish you a most...happy occasion."

He nodded. "Thank you, nurse."

"Christine. It's Christine."

He nodded, as if to say "Yes, of course it is," but he did not say it out loud.

##

Chapel's chime went off and she answered it, hoping against hope that it was Spock, here to say that he wanted her, that he loved her, that now that he was back on the ship, being married didn't matter.

She wished she'd been allowed to stay in sickbay, figure out why the captain had come back seemingly dead, why Spock had been so happy to see him. But Len had kicked her out of the room, and even if she'd been the kind to listen at doors, the soundproofing would have put an end to that plan.

She opened the door, saw Pavel, and laughed in bitter surrender. Of course it wasn't Spock. "Hi."

"Hi. I wanted...I wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine." She moved aside. "Come in, though."

He walked into her quarters, looking uncomfortable, like he hadn't ever been in them. "It must have been a shock—or disappointing, anyway—to find out Mister Spock had a wife on Vulcan."

"You could say that." She waited to see where he was going to sit. When he chose the bed, she sat on her desk chair. "But really, not my business, right? What he does. Just like what I do isn't really your business."

Pavel studied her, his expression so lost she had to close her eyes.

"What do you want from me? I can't change how I feel. You're a nice guy, Pav. You're a good man. But I love him."

"I know." He looked down, seemed to be fascinated by the pattern of the carpet on the floor of her quarters. "I've always known you loved him. I guess I thought if I could just...move you somehow."

"And you did. In bed." She got up and walked to him. She stroked his cheek, and he pressed his face into her palm. "We're friends. Right?"

"Yes. Friends." He jerked away from her hand, his expression changing to one of resolve rather than hurt. "Christine, I just wanted to say...I'm sorry. I'm sorry he is married. Perhaps if he were not, he would be able to love you the way you want."

"Maybe so." She closed her eyes. "I'm so tired, Pav."

"Having soup thrown at you can do that to a person." He smiled—it almost looked real.

She was not surprised he'd heard about the soup tirade. It was probably all over the ship by now. One more way she'd made an ass of herself over Spock. "I made him more soup after that."

He looked surprised—and disappointed. "I see."

"He asked me to. And...it was something, you know?"

"I know. Sometimes the least little thing is worth a lot." He got up. "I will leave you, then. If you are tired, sleep."

Her chime suddenly went off. "Spock to Chapel."

Chekov's face got very tight. "You should get that. I'll see myself out."

##

"You wanted to see me?" She felt self conscious standing at Spock's door this way, especially after nearly wearing that goddamned soup with her boss and the captain looking on.

"I did. Come in, Christine."

Christine? What the hell? She'd had to tell him to call her that the last couple of times she was here.

"I do not know how much you understand what transpired on Vulcan."

"Not a damn thing, because Len kicked me out of your boys-only treehouse."

He looked confused.

"Who cares. Bygones. I know this: you were suddenly married." Couldn't he have just told her that?

He nodded. "Yes. And now I am not."

He wasn't? She hated how her heart seemed to jump at the news. "Quickie divorce?"

He moved closer. "Not precisely." He was looking at her in a very unnerving way. Similar to the other day, when she'd felt like bait in a trap.

"Why am I here, Spock?"

He took a deep breath. "I was—am undergoing the Pon Farr: the Vulcan mating drive. T'Pring, who was my wife and now is not, did not wish to marry me so she challenged. Because I fought for her, the heat of the battle burned off the immediate need to mate."

Something about the way he was talking made her angry, made her tone very cold when she said, "So far I'm not hearing anything about me."

"The urge is back."

The urge? The fucking urge? "Oh. You mean the urge...to mate?"

"Yes." He reached out for her, and she shied away. "I will not hurt you." He held his hand out to her.

She did not take it. "Before, when you had to get to Vulcan, the urge to mate was everything, right? You would have died if you had not?"

He nodded.

"And now? Will you die?"

"It is not that dire."

"Oh, so you simply want to have sex?" She started to laugh. "And of course, you came to me because...?" She gave him a "Make your answer a good one" look.

"I find you appealing." His expression did not change. She felt more like meat to a hungry tiger than a woman he'd long wanted.

"Now. You find me appealing now. But...later? When this is done and you're back to normal?"

"Christine, you indicated you were interested in me. Is that not the case?"

"I love you. Do you love me?"

He stared at her as if she was a laboratory sample gone rancid. "Emotions are not something I am—"

"For God's sake, Spock. I saw you with Leila. You understand love. Do you love me? Is this the start of something?"

"I make no promises, which is right and proper, and you would see that if you were looking at this logically. Promises made when one is physiologically compromised are not promises to hold faith in."

"Compromised? That's what this is? This need for closeness?" Closeness—try sex. Call it what it was. He wanted to fuck her—the same way she'd fucked Chekov. It was as empty as that—probably emptier since at least she and Pavel were trying to be friends. For once, she had to open her eyes and see the truth behind the words. She was a willing body. Nothing more.

He moved toward her. "I am...uncomfortable. I need relief."

"You're suffering from a bad case of horniness, Spock. That's all." She took his hand, eased it down his body till it rested over his groin. "Age-old cure. Take care of it yourself." She let go of him and took a step back.

His eyebrow nearly disappeared into his hair as he pulled his hand up. "You will not help me?"

She stood a little straighter. "I will not. Do it yourself. Or find someone else to use. I really don't give a damn."

"Most unexpected." He did not, however, sound very upset at the prospect of losing her, more put out that he might have to ruin one of his socks—or go find some other willing vessel.

A part of her still wanted to touch him, to hold him, to let him do all the things he wanted. She didn't like that part of herself very much right now. And that part was certainly not running things. "Goodnight, Spock."

"Nurse."

She turned and left.

##

She went to the lounge, still marveling that she had just left Spock alone when he actually wanted her.

Well, when he wanted a warm body and she was in the vicinity.

Glory, hallelujah, she did have some pride.

She saw Pavel on the dance floor with one of the ensigns Hikaru said she didn't socialize with enough. She sat down on a couch that was near the dance floor, one that Pavel and his woman of the minute would pass by.

He saw her, and she gave him her sweetest smile. He looked confused.

When they came by again, she gave him a very different smile. He looked even more confused.

The music changed before he could go by again. He escorted the ensign back to the group he must have snagged her from and walked over to Chapel. "Christine."

"Pavel."

"I...did not expect to see you. What with Spock's comm..."

"That's me. Zigging when you think I'll zag." She patted the couch next to her.

He sat. "You wish to be seen with me?"

She nodded, then touched his hand. "I'm sorry that I used you. That wasn't fair and it couldn't have felt good."

"It did not feel good. But Christine, I let you use me." He did not meet her eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I like you. I like you very much. But I know when I am beaten."

"You don't know shit, my dear." She leaned back, pulling him with her so he had to catch himself, ended up lounging half on the couch, half on her.

"Uhhh, Christine, what are you doing?"

"Robbing the cradle." She grinned at him. "Care to kiss me, mister?"

"Right here?" He actually looked shocked. "With everyone watching?"

"Everyone isn't watching." She laughed softly. "And I know you won't. I'm counting on that because I'm not an exhibitionist, either. But I want you to know that if you wanted to, you could. And if you did, I'd kiss you back."

"Oh. Well. That is very good news." He looked down. "I'd ask you to dance, but I know you like taller men."

"I also like older men. But since I'm going younger, why not go shorter? Who says the man has to be taller, anyway?" She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I don't remember it making any difference at all when we're horizontal."

He started to laugh. "It helps that so much of your height is in your legs."

"The better to wrap around you." She pulled away. "So you want to dance with me?"

He took a deep breath. "I do but...give me a minute, Christine. I find it difficult to retain my composure when you talk about your legs wrapped around me."

She touched his cheek, saw his eyes widen—probably at how tender she'd made the touch. "Take as much time as you need, Pav. We're in no rush at all."

FIN


End file.
